


Stiles or The Weary Story of An Unwilling Hero

by humhumhum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, Jealousy, M/M, Mates, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:34:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5204264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humhumhum/pseuds/humhumhum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you catch, please tell me my mistakes, I know they are there. Thank you.</p></blockquote>





	Stiles or The Weary Story of An Unwilling Hero

Before all of this had happened, Stiles knew who he was, like the rest of the Beacon folk, he ran across the black haired Beta time to time at the distant corners of the small town. He was hard to forget. Yet, when Stiles called his memory to help, only one memory was reaching the surface, nothing more. And that was not a historic moment, not at all. 

Stiles was waiting Heather, hands in pocket, dressed nicely for their first date; sport jacket, navy Dockers, new sneakers. There was no need to be anxious. He knew her for years. Even so, his heart was nervously beating like it didn’t take the message. He took a tour around the cinema. Fifteen more minutes and they will be late for the Heath Ledger’s legendary act. 

He looked at his watch one more time. There was a movement across the street. The back door of the brick building opened, suddenly filling the street with a muffled rhythm. A dark haired, tall figure walked out. He leaned against testaceous wall, lit a cigarette. The man was pale, dressed a black leather jacket. It was so hollywoodesque, Stiles could not make himself look elsewhere. After the second breath the man’s eyes caught his, pinned him down where he was. It downed on Stiles how beautiful he was, how dizzyingly, how terribly, disarmingly beautiful. Under the streetlights the stranger slowly dragged another breath, while his gaze wandering over him shamelessly. Stiles pressed his sweaty hands to his pants, his heart on the verge of flying off. It suddenly occurred him this would be what ordinary soldier must felt when he captured by the beauty of Helen of Troy. It was hopeless, ephemeral, he was neither Menelaus, nor Paris. The man straightened up, crushed his half smoked cigarette, he took a step like he intended to cross the street. The bar’s door opened one more time, carrying a crushing music in tow. 

-Derek, called a voice, you are missing all the fun. 

Hearing the name, he remembered finally, the tragic thing had happened the man, it was not important then, when Stiles’ pain so fresh, his agony was the worst, that there was no corner that he could hold another’s tragedy. 

A woman, lean and strong, came into view, her dark skin glowing with a dashing energy. 

Derek pulled her towards himself without a word, his hands traveling her body smoothly, and Stiles could almost taste his touch because his eyes still following Stiles intently. 

Blushing, Stiles turned his eyes away. At the same moment an excited voice echoed through the street offering freedom from this weird trance.

-There you are!

Heather came half running, extended her soft hand, Stiles held her hand tightly, grateful, with her kind existence, he once more had found the right track. Though he couldn’t help himself, and before they reached the corner, he turned back for a second, tilted his head as a goodbye, like he actually met Derek. The man surprised if his arched eyebrows was a tell, but he answered with a slight smile.

If Stiles said that he sensed that this was the man who will destroy his life irreversibly, he would be lying, but he felt something, he felt that this was an encounter like no other. 

…

6 years later

 

He woke up with a smile, hand searching for warmness, stopped moving when the only thing it found was the cold face of sheets.  
Real life came like needles in seconds, like knives, crushingly fast, and utterly cruel.  
His eyes opened to a sight of a pile of dusty boxes, his old life packed in there, silent and waiting for long-gone Heather stubbornly, desperately.  
John’s voice from downstairs pulled off him from his darkening thoughts.

-Stiles, you are getting late son.

-Coming!  
…

It was 8.15 when he got behind the wheel. There was still time for a cup of coffee, he stopped in front of his favorite coffee-shop. 

It was relatively crowded inside, and every pair of eyes turned towards him when he entered. Avoiding direct eye contact with anyone, he reached the barista;

-One cappuccino, please.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught someone familiar approaching. He straightened visibly for the inevitable.

-Hey Dinah… he began but couldn’t continue, especially after seeing the expression on her face. He shut his mouth, eyes resting upon the shiny chrome coffee machine.

Not very long ago, he was taking pleasure of these kinds of encounters, they symbolized safety and small talk, some distant feeling of belonging. 

He took his ready cup hastily, directly walking towards the door. Outside, there was a scene waiting for him. His hand began to shake with rage;

-What the fuck do you want from my jeep? He shouted. 

At least six blond heads were watching him from the windows of the coffee shop. There was no way to tell which one committed the assault.

-This is really lack of creativity you know, he said towards the distant cousins of Heather. 

Passing pedestrians were looking the red letters sprayed across the door; ‘‘Bitch’’, and it was not their eyes, not the assault itself, he was called way worse, but his Jeep, last living thing that Claudia left behind, now tainted, that cut him deep. 

…

 

When he reached the parking lot, his rage already left its place to a deep-bone tiredness. Before he stepped off the jeep, his phone started to vibrate;

-Boss?

Deaton’s monotone voice skipped the nickname, dived into issue quickly;

-Stiles, where are you?

-I’m fine, thanks for asking…

-Stiles!

-I’m out of the building.

-There is a case close to you.

He opened his notebook, waiting for directions;

-I’m listening.

-Malia Hale..

-Are you fucking with me?!

-Stiles…

-No way!

-The kid probably is exposed to some form of wolfsbane.

-Don’t do this. Can’t you go? Please, pretty please. 

-Stiles, I’m not in Beacon Hills. Don’t forget your oath, protecting people comes before everything.

Starting the engine, Stiles answered with a murmur before he hung up;

-It could sound more noble you know if that oath wouldn’t already drag me to this point. 

…

If it was his choice, he preferred never came here again, despite his love of the deep green of the Hale territory. Trees around him were reaching to the sky, so tall, so silent and beautiful. There was a calmness surrounding him, soothing his nerves at least before the Hale house came into scene, like a massive ship in the middle of an ocean, it seemed proud, and cold, it was not welcoming, no, its closed, shadowy windows watching him with close attention. 

He stopped the jeep. God knew he didn’t want to do this.  
Taking a deep breath he took his light blue bag. The moment his feet touched the ground the front door opened, Laura Hale came to him with urgent steps. Still, there was no roughness in her. She was carrying her body with an inherited grace.

-Here we go, he said to himself.

… 

 

Despite its gloomy looking, inside of the house was alive and warm. 

-This way.

He followed Laura’s footsteps towards a wooden staircase while his eyes wondering upon the walls decorated with various paintings. They entered the first room on the left. Malia was laying on the bed motionless, noting her healthy color Stiles came closer to his patient. The cousin of the girl was holding her hand loosely. Stiles, careful with his distance from Cora, stopped at the head of the bed. 

-Malia?

He touched her sweaty forehead, she had a slight fever. 

-Malia? Can you hear me?

A light groan left her mouth.

-How long is she like this? 

From his behind Laura’s concerned voice answered his question;

-She woke up vomiting this morning. She was okay last night.

The kid’s face had a good color, she was responding, her irises were normal. Stiles took her hand, examining the grape colored palm.

-Can you bring me a wet towel? He asked.

In the absence of Beta’s presence, Stiles twitched anxiously. There was an electrical feeling in the air.  
If he did not move suddenly, and not talk, maybe he could survive from this unscathed.  
Falsifying him, a thick growl broke off from Cora’s throat.  
With a loud move he tried to escape, Cora’s threateningly hairy paw suddenly caught his wrist.

-If it was up to me, I would rip off your finger, she whispered with a grudge, her yellow eyes locked on the humble, golden ring, like it was a kilometer-long crater.

There was a distinct sound of the things falling down coming from downstairs. His heart was beating madly, Cora’s presence responding its panicking rhythm, she trapped him into the foot of the bed. 

-Derek was good for fucking once a month, but not for getting rid of the ring? Is that it?

For a moment he actually thought this was the end, the walls grew tall around him, he could not breathe. In the middle of the panic, a loud growl filled the room, shuddering Cora dropped her claw. 

The panic attack came with a full force, he escaped Laura’s hand, withdraw the corner of the room, counting his breaths, fighting for control. Not here, he said himself, not now, not in front of these people. 

-Stiles, please, nobody will hurt you. 

After a few minutes he grasped once more the real life, Cora was nowhere in sight, he was alone with Laura.

Without looking at her, he held out a little bottle from his bag.

-It is not wolfsbane. It seems like she ate poisonous berry. Nothing serious, wipe her palms and give a spoonful of this if her fever spikes. Now if you excuse me.

-Stiles…

He didn’t want to listen, closed his bag.

-Stiles please, you have to understand.

With a wild set of eyes he turned towards her.

-What is there to understand? Your sister wants to rip off my finger because I’m wearing my wedding ring. You act like this is all my fault, I didn’t want any of this! 

Words did not spoken before even in the presence of Scott or his father spilled out from his mouth with a growing anger.

-I had a life, I was happy… If I could…

He didn’t complete the sentence, but they both knew what was the rest. If I could I would reverse everything that happened, I would never go into that house.

-This makes me a horrible person, isn’t it? He asked with a low voice.

Laura’s face did something surprising; she smiled slightly.

-But you saved him, you had the chance to do otherwise, but you saved him anyway.

Lacking of proper answer he averted his gaze.  
They walked slowly towards the jeep. Laura’s eyes caught the half erased letters.

He knew there was nothing to be ashamed, still his face burned with heat. 

When they stopped near the vehicle, with a sincere voice Laura said:

-I’m really sorry for what has happened today. 

When Stiles did not offer an answer, she continued:

-Cora… is too young to understand. 

His expression turned sour, he was a teenager as well once, and didn’t remember to make an attempt on anyone’s life, at least not knowingly. 

-I’m not saying this to vindicate her. We all grew up with listening sacredness of the connection, how unique to be able to reach in such a deep level to another. Cora is not mad at you, not actually, she is angry with everyone because she thinks she is fooled. 

Stiles playing with the keys in his hand with a tired, defeated expression.

-I’m not a proper material for a unique story.

Laura’s gentle hand touched his lightly.

-After what you have done, there is no one to believe this except you.  
He colored with the compliment despite himself.

-It is getting late, I have to go.

-Of course, she said with a soft voice, thank you, for Malia. And for Derek.

…

He came home with a desperate wish to disappear under the covers, but he had to clean his car first before his father saw it. He got to work with unwilling hands, his wrist was throbbing with a dull ache, and the fucking scarlet letters resisting after the third round. He threw sponge into the soapy water with a litany of swearing. 

This was the fucking last drop.

Half crying, half swearing he kicked the bucket, done with everything, went for his bed, ending the day early. 

…

He woke up to a dark place, he was again in Mare street number 15. Objects inside were mute, and grotesque, Stiles began to walk, afraid of making a voice. He passed a night-stand displaying full of sharp knives in different sizes, across the wall there was a deer head watching him with eyes whitened with terror.

He closed his eyes, I’m not here, I’m with Heather, she will wake me up in no time. 

He startled with a moan, whispered quietly:

-Derek? Where are you?

His legs were shaking like leaves with every step. He was feeling a sharp coldness in his back like a dead hand traveling upon him. Trying hard to avoid touching wet looking walls, he called him once more:  
-Derek?

-Stiles?

His pained voice was a stab in the heart.

-Derek! Derek, where the fuck are you?

-In here!

As soon as he turned where the voice was coming he met Derek’s green eyes.

-You have to help me.

Stiles came near to the bars holding the werewolf.

-Why don’t you escape? Bend the bars!

-I can’t, she stole my wolf.

-What the fuck?

-Stop it, you have to get me out of here now! I can hear she is coming.

Looking at the bars with a weak voice Stiles said:

-But how? I’m only a healer, I can’t fucking bend the bars.

-Stiles, please, help me!

Stiles grabbed the bars pulling them all his strength. A cold breath tingled at his neck, icy fingers grabbed his wrist. He turned with dread, caught by Kate’s eyes, glowing electric blue. 

-No, he said, stepping back, his back touching the bars, there was no place to escape.

-Yes, she said with a sneer, don’t be like that honey, you don’t even see the half of it. But I think Derek and I can give you a good show. 

Her face changed with an animalistic touch, fingers wringing his wrist to the point of tearing. 

…

He stirred awake with a rabbit-like heart. There was a flaring pain in his wrist, spreading of on his arm. With an assessing gaze, he scanned the dark room, Kate is not here, she can’t hurt anyone, anymore. There is nothing to be afraid of. 

He realized that he had to get up and prepare something for his pain. Maybe a cup of hot-chocolate too. When Deaton first suggested he didn’t take it seriously, but of course he was mistaken, and Deaton was right. Chocolate was good for his lasting distress. 

He sat on the kitchen stool, touching his chest like the aching came from there instead of his wrist. He was trying to endure growing pressure, there was something in him, something sharp, edgy, on the verge of snapping. He knew it was going to come undone, sooner or later, and he would be dissolved. He could feel deep in his bones its existence ticking like a clock. There was only solution; acceptance, and he could not do it, neither of them do. It was a hopeless game they were playing, fooling the fate, in the end they were both going to loose everything. 

For now he had to yield a little bit, bargain with fate a little more, he knew he had only 5 or maybe 6 days before the pain, the pressure, the hollowness reached up to an intolerable point. 

-Stiles? Is everything all right son?

Stiles lowered his hand hastily.

-Yes, of course. 

His father didn’t seem so convinced. 

-You washed jeep.

-Yeah, so?

John’s keen eyes caught his son’s swelled wrist.

-Stiles, are they bothering you again? We can do something you know. You are not indebted to Davis’, you don’t have to protect them.

-I’m not. This is not about Heather, he lied. It was an accident.

-I can see something bothering you, if it is not this tell me what it is.

He wanted to avoid the talk by saying I’m okay, but he couldn’t make himself say it. Because he was not, he really was not.

-All those talks about how we are free to choose, I believed them with all my heart you know? They say we have the free will, we have options, like it is the most important thing, like there is no world outside cutting our choices like a knife. 

He was touching the edge of the warm cup in front of him, 

-I don’t believe any of those tales anymore. If I’m free, truly free, then what I’m doing here?

He watched his father straightened a little, eyes soft, understanding but harbinger of bad news for his son obviously.

-I know what you are feeling, because time to time I feel the same thing, he said while he was looking at his ring with sorrow.

-You are right about life in a way, it is happening to us, sometimes with a volume that we can barely stand. And sometimes roads can be narrowed down, that we can devoid of any option that we want to take, but they are often there Stiles. And even the man that utterly free from any bond, can’t escape from the bonds of his own choosing, whether it is a choice that he desire or not. And you have the free will, you had the options, and you made your decision. The bitter results of your decisions do not mean you are lack of freedom.

His kind eyes took sight of Stiles’ mournful face.

-I wish, Stiles said, I wish, I never had to choose. Just… Why me? I can’t understand. There are so many people out there, why me?

-Because there was someone that needed your help, and you were there, and you choose to help. The only thing we can do at this point, accept it, and learn how to live with it.

John embraced his son, Stiles’ body was rigid, like it was unknowingly rebelling, not able of agreeing, never. 

-What is done is done. We have to find a way to make this easier for both of you now. I know it is hard to accept but this is not a thing you can fight, neither of you can. Just take a step, see what will happen, I know you don’t want to, but in the end it will be worth it I promise. 

 

…

**Author's Note:**

> If you catch, please tell me my mistakes, I know they are there. Thank you.


End file.
